On our trips to this tambo we always carried out with us some rubber to be sent down-stream, but there was much more of it which we left behind; for the journey through the bush was so long that it had been decided to pile up the rubber we made until the flood-time drew near, when a large band of men were to be sent in to take it away. So we had many balls of it, worth much money, waiting out there in the forest when we heard of the Peccaries.
Our friends told us the Peruvian side was being raided by a large band of marauders whose leader was a yellow half-breed, and who painted their jaws a whitish color like the white-lipped peccaries; and from this, and their savagery, they got their name. That was all that our men knew of them at that time. So we went back to our district, talking about this new peril of a region that is always perilous enough, but fearing it not at all; for none of us thought those robbers would ever come into our place, so far away from the hills of Peru.
Now, as you have been among peccaries, senhores, you must know the fetid smell that comes from them, especially when there are many of them together. It comes from a gland in their loins, and if you kill one for his meat—which you probably will not do if you can find anything better—you must cut this thing out at once.
And one day some time after our trip outside, while we were lounging around the tambo in the heat of noon, this smell floated to us from the thick forest round about. It grew strong and rank in the heavy air, and we looked at one another and arose to get our rifles. But the beasts that burst out upon us were not what we expected.
A voice snarled an order, the bush rustled, and we were surrounded by a score of evil-looking men. They were Indians and half-breeds, almost naked, armed with rifles, revolvers and knives, and smelling most foul. We saw at once that they were Peruvian caboclos, for they had the slanting eyes and high cheek-bones. Then I grew cold inside, for I observed that their lips and jaws were daubed a dirty white; and that and their peccary-smell told me who they were.
Shots crashed out, and I turned to see two of my men fall dead, killed because they had seized their rifles. Then the yellow-faced, black-mustached leader of the raiders strode before me and snarled in Spanish—
"Who commands here?"
"I do,” I snarled back.
He grinned a mocking grin, and said:
"Then, señor el capitan, tell your men to make no fight, or they will all go the way of those two dogs on the ground. We are the Peccaries—you know of us, yes? Then you know what we do to those who oppose us. But we would spare you for a time, because we can use you."
"For what?” I demanded.
"For beasts of burden, illustrious señor. You have much rubber, which will be carried out for us. And you will do the carrying."
As my rifle was not near my hand I leaped at him with my machete drawn. He sprang away from before me and hissed something through his yellow teeth. A sudden shock smote the back of my head, and I fell.
When I came to myself the fight was over, and of my eleven men only two were left alive. One was Jorge Tourinho, who was very ill with fever; and the other was Paulo Pereira, a big fellow who was very powerful but rather slow of thought and action. All the other nine lay where they had died fighting those devils who would not only rob us but enslave us too.
And though they had been outnumbered, surrounded, and caught by surprise, they had fought well, those mates of mine. Among their bodies lay those of six dead Peccaries, and four more of the raiders were shot and slashed so that they would soon die. The yellow leader, however, was unharmed, and as I started to rise he sprang and kicked me down. And then, grinning that cruel grin, he said:
"Stay where you are, dog, until I tell you to get up. And look around you and see what has come to your men. If I had not decided to make you sweat blood before I finish with you, and so had you struck down from behind, you too would now be meat for the vultures, which are gathering for their feast."
And I looked up as I lay there, and saw that he spoke truth, for the black urubus already were settling into the trees around us.
Swiftly I rolled over and sprang up and attacked him again in fury—with my bare hands this time, for my machete was gone. I got his throat in my hands and throttled him. But another blow smashed on my head, and for the second time I was knocked senseless. And when the light came back to me I could not fight more, for I was sick—sick from a terrible headache caused by those blows, and sick because I had been brutally kicked in the stomach while I lay there.
And as I looked around I grew yet sicker from what I saw. For those demonios were mutilating the bodies of my comrades in a manner such as I can not tell you about, and such as only fiends could ever have thought of.
I looked at Paulo, who lay near me, and saw his face was gray-white. As I moved he caught my eye and said hoarsely:
"Do not fight more, chief, or they will do to us what they are doing to the dead—and do it while we are alive. Their yellow caitão has said so."
I made no answer, but my face may have shown my thought, for he added:
"Do not look so at me—I can not fight. See, my right arm is broken. And I was struck down from behind even as you were, and I am sick."
Before I could say anything, if I had wanted to, a voice arose in a babble of meaningless words. The sound came from the tambo, where Jorge lay racked with fever, and I knew it was he, raving in his illness. The Peccaries turned and looked toward the noise, and the leader went to the hammock where Jorge lay.
"Ah! The fever?” he purred. “That is very sad, my friend, that you have fever. If you were well you might be a beast of burden for us, but you are far too weak to be useful. And since I am very tender of heart, and it grieves me deeply to see you suffering so, I will cure you at once."
Then Jorge's babbling burst into a sudden scream, and after that he was silent. And the yellow man came out grinning, and carrying a red-stained knife.
The foul-smelling caboclos laughed harshly at his murderous humor. A cold, deadly rage filled me. I ached to kill them all. Yet I saw how hopeless my position was, and swiftly determined what I would do. Though I would rather die fighting than be their pack-animal, yet I would not fight, nor die either; for if I were dead I would be of no use to myself or anyone else, while if I lived and awaited my chance I might find a way to destroy this band, or at least some of them, and avenge my mates.
So when the chief murderer ordered me roughly to get up I did so meekly, though with some difficulty because of my aching stomach. And when he called me dog again, and told me that if I made more trouble he would cut out my bowels, I answered:
"I will make no trouble, senhor. You have won, and I am no fool. I fought for my rubber and my friends, and you can not blame a man for that."
"You have it right,” he answered. “And you have sense also, and you are a good fighter. If you serve us well we may not treat you so badly. Perhaps you may even become one of us, for we need fighting men. If you do become a Peccary you shall have much gold, and women.
"But first we shall see how you act. If you try treachery, you will scream for death a long time before it comes to you."
"Gold and women?” I asked as if that bait tempted me. “Where do you get your women, senhor?"
He laughed then, a vile laugh, and stared at me with glittering eyes so evil that I secretly felt ashamed that any man should think of me what he thought. And he said:
"So you are interested, yes? We get the women wherever we find them. There are handsome maidens in the Indian villages here and there—yes, young and strong and beautiful—and when they have come to us they love us so much that they never leave us—until they die."
And he laughed again, cruelly; and the white-jawed men laughed too, so that I shivered, picturing to myself what the fate of those women must be. But I concealed my feelings, and when they ordered me to the rubber tambo I went, with Paulo trailing silently along behind.
There the Peccaries loaded themselves with the rubber, cursing and growling because there were not
more men to carry it. They loaded me and Paulo, too, until we could scarcely walk under our burdens.
The yellow man scowled at Paulo's broken arm a minute before he was loaded up, and fingered his knife as if half-minded to kill him because he was crippled. But then he looked the yellow man all over, and saw how big and strong he was, and decided to keep him alive because he would be able to carry much weight when the broken arm should mend; so he had that arm tied up roughly with creeping vines.
When we had all we could carry, the raiders took the weapons from the dead and hid them in the forest, where they could get them when they came again with more men. Then they started westward, driving us like beasts.
For two days we marched, Paulo and I plodding on silent and sullen. Paulo was suffering much from his broken arm, but our captors showed him no mercy. Because of this he soon developed a fever, and between this and his pain he could not sleep at night, but turned and groaned so that I could not sleep much either.
Of course, I did what little I could for him, and whispered encouragement, telling him we would live to repay these murderers for all they had done to us and our comrades. But he said:
"Chief, I shall not live. I feel that I shall see few more dawns, and I am glad."
And he was right. For whenever the band paused to drink from a stream they always let us drink first, and waited a while before taking water themselves, which puzzled us somewhat. And on the third day Paulo drank heavily from a little brook while I lay where I dropped to snatch a moment's rest, too tired even to creep to the water. And very soon after that be began to writhe and squirm, while the Peccaries looked at him with gleaming eyes and nodded to one another as if they had expected this.
I went quickly to him, and said—
"Comrade, what is it?"
He gasped—
"Poison!"
And soon he died in great pain.
I turned on those caboclos then and cursed them. But they only laughed, and the leader said:
"Why waste your temper? He was only a cripple. Do not curse us, but the Indians who poisoned the water because we took some of their women and made them happy. We have been very polite, and have always allowed you to drink first; is it not so?"
Then he cackled his hideous laugh, and I burned to kill him. But there was nothing I could do, and so I swallowed my hate and went on with them, trying to comfort myself with the thought that now Paulo was at peace.
WE REACHED a river, and they drew out canoes from concealments under the bank, and we went downstream for quite a long distance. Then we landed on the western shore, hid the canoes again and kept on westward.
Though I staggered on under my load like an unseeing brute, I was really using my eyes all the time and remembering our course, so that I could use it again by myself if the chance came. And at last, when it seemed I could go no farther, we came into a village which was the lair of the Peccaries.
It was a filthy little town with barracãos built much like ours, except that these houses did not stand high on poles as ours do; for the place was in hilly country, far above the reach of the floods. There were few men about, but quite a number of women—Indian women, all young, some not bad-looking, but all seeming sullen and hopeless. The men were as hard-looking and foul-smelling as those with us, and they had the same white-daubed jaws.
I soon learned from their talk with our leader, whom they called El Amarillo—probably because of his yellowness—that there were more robbers, but that they now were out on raids of their own, led by sub-chiefs. And during the next few days these bands came in, bringing some rubber, and a large amount of raw gold which they had won by murders somewhere in the hills.
In all, there were fully fifty of them, and I doubt if such a brutal crew ever was gathered before in any place. They were beasts—beasts that walked and talked like men, but had no human hearts.
Nobody paid much attention to me, except to curse me or throw vile jests at me, and see that I did not escape. This I made no effort to do, for two reasons: I was so worn down by my hard march that I wanted rest above all else, and besides I hoped to work out some way to destroy them, which was really what I had undergone all that hardship for.
But I could see no way to do this, for I was one unarmed man among half a hundred cutthroats, and all I could think of was to set fire to their barracãos at night. This idea I discarded, for there was little chance that I could do them much harm by burning their houses. And so for the time I did nothing but watch and listen.
I saw that the rubber they had brought in from their raids was taken away again by a gang of stolid Indian porters, commanded by a villainous caboclo with one eye, who probably delivered it at some place where it could be sent to a market and sold.
I saw also why these men smelled so; for they killed peccaries in the forest, and ate their flesh, and smeared themselves with the musky fat from those pouches in the pigs’ loins; and as they never washed themselves this odor quickly became most vile. Besides this, I saw something of their treatment of women.
As ten of them had died in the fight with my men, and all of them had had women, the Yellow One now decided to give these girls over to other men. He had them brought out and lined up before him like cattle, and picked the best-looking for himself, although he already had two others of his own. Then he gave each of his sub-chiefs one, and those who were left he handed over to men who had none.
The girls made no protest, but went dumbly with the men who got them—all except one. She was one of the youngest, and she turned from the bandit to whom she was given and begged El Amarillo not to make that man her master. He snarled, and told her to go as he ordered.
Then she broke away and fled very fast, trying to escape; and the big brute who now owned her ran after her, cursing. He caught her by the hair, and his knife flashed, and she fell; and then he picked her body up and threw it out to one side for the urubus and came back, muttering with rage.
The Yellow One grinned his beastly grin, and the others said nothing, but walked off as if such things were common. And I went away and sat down by myself, sick at heart.
Soon after that a dozen more Indian carriers came in, and the chief took them and me and four of his fighting-men, and we started back to my old tambo to bring out more of the rubber. Before we went the Yellow One ordered that large boats be kept waiting for us at that place on the river where we had first taken to the canoes, as several trips through the bush would be necessary to clean up all the loot.
At first it seemed strange to me that he should go back himself instead of sending a lesser man and devoting his own time to new work elsewhere. But as we marched back to the river I learned from his talk with his fighters that it was not alone the rubber that took him back, but that he planned another raid in my country, and a foul one.
For he was not satisfied with the three women he now possessed, but wanted more; and he knew of an Indian tribe who lived in the Brazilian bush in a great maloca, or tribal house, and who were lighter in color than most Indians and had among them many handsome young women. So, after our rubber should be all brought out and sent down the river, he intended to lead his men against this tribal house by night, when the Indians were asleep, burst in its single door, and, in the darkness and confusion of the sudden attack, to seize a number of girls and drag them swiftly away to a fate which I knew only too well.
I learned, too, from their talk that this would not be the first time they had assailed those Indians and carried off their women, and that in a previous raid they had captured, among other girls, the one whom I had recently seen murdered.
Now, though I had been unable to help that girl, because she had fled and met her death so swiftly that I could not interfere, I had noticed her particularly among the women, and had wondered whether she came from a certain tribe of Indians whom I knew. Some time before this I had roamed the jungle with a man from your North America whom I called the Jaguar, because he was a terrible fighter; and we had been captured by Indi
ans said to be cannibals, but had not been killed and eaten by them because the Jaguar dared the chief to fight him barehanded, and killed him; and then a cunning old man who wished to use us for his own purposes made the Jaguar chief of all the tribe, and finally we seized our chance and escaped.
And though we had been among those people only a short time, quite a number of their faces stayed dimly in my memory, and it seemed to me that the girl murdered by the big brutal Peccary had been among them. So now, when I heard this talk of a woman-stealing raid, I became sure that the tribe these men were about to attack was the same one which had held me prisoner.
And though those Indians meant nothing to me, the knowledge of what these beasts were scheming to do made my hatred for them all the more bitter; for it brought back to me burning memories of a time when I had a girl for whom I cared much, and lost her when she was carried away by a fiend even worse than the Peccary leader. And, brooding over this, and the deaths of my men, and the brutality from which I myself had suffered, I resolved that from this journey either El Amarillo or I would not come back.
We reached the river, and took the canoes upstream, and resumed our march through the jungle. The Yellow One walked near me several times leering at me and calling me beast and dog, and taunting me with the fact that I should soon look upon the torn remnants of my brave comrades who had died fighting.
I bit my tongue and kept silence. But from the corner of my eye I studied his weapons, as I had done a number of times before. He carried a rifle in one hand, a machete and dagger at his left side, and a revolver at his right.
The thought of snatching one of these grew in my mind. I wanted one of the knives, which would do its work quickly and surely if I once got a grip on it; but somehow he always walked at my left, in such a way that the knives were on the other side of him and out of my reach.
The rifle, too, he carried usually in his left hand, and I knew that if I seized it there would be a struggle, and that probably one of the other Peccaries would kill me before I could wrench it from his grasp. Thus the revolver would be best, for I could get it more easily, and perhaps kill the other robbers with it as well as their leader. Whether the Indian carriers would attack me I did not know, nor care.
Amazon Nights: Classic Adventure Tales from the Pulps Page 4